Much Ado About Spuffy
by etaknosnhoj
Summary: Based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. The Scoobies take a holiday in Tuscany and Spike is out to make mayhem...


_Much __Ado__ About Spuffy_

_Buffy__ and her friends take a much needed break to spend several weeks at a villa in __Tuscany__.  Everyone is pairing off, except for Buffy, and she's just happy to get some time off from slaying.  At least she has Spike to spar with.  But the rest of the gang seem to be seeing more to their relationship than there actually is.  Can the Scoobies push the world's most unlikely pair - vampire and slayer - together?_

_But when a demon sends things sour between Anya and Xander, it's Spike and Buffy who have to pick up the pieces.  Too upset to find out what's wrong, Buffy takes comfort in Spike's arms, and is appalled at herself.  Can Anya and Xander make up their differences?  Will __Willow__ and Oz find out what went wrong?  And is the world's loneliest woman going to stay that way - forever?_

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_Buffy_

            "They're all idiots," I said, twisting my hair up and looking at my reflection.

            "Who are?"

            "Men.  Use you and abuse you.  No respect for anyone."

            "I feel honour bound to give that a very big 'Hey!'" Xander said, looking hurt.

            "And I second that," Oz raised his hand.

            "Okay, not including you guys.  But all other men."  I stuck my tongue out at my reflection.  "They're all assholes."

            Oz and Xander exchanged glances.  "Is this about Spike again?"

            I chucked my phone at them.  "Read that."

            Xander grabbed it and read the text.

            "The torture of the summer is over.  I am finally returning.  Hope you kept my bed warm ;-)"

            "Aw, come on, Buffy," my best friend Willow said.  "He was just joking."

            "Yeah, but then again that's all he ever does.  'I'm Spike.  I have a dumb name.  I have stupid hair.'"

            "Oh, I'm rolling in the aisles," Xander said.

            "Sorry.  I'll try better when I see him."

            The phone bleeped again and I snatched it up.  I wanted to know how long I had to sharpen my claws before Spike returned.

            But it wasn't from Spike.  It was from Cordelia, our some-time friend, wo was a queen bitch, but she'd stuck by us for three years now, and her parents were paying the rent in the villa we'd got for the summer, so we were letting her stay.  We desperately needed the break.  School had been exhausting, and to add to the viciousness, slayage had been violent too.  You'd think what with the longer days, there'd be less vampires around.  But no.  They never stop.  A girl just can't take a holiday any more.

            Perhaps I ought to introduce myself.  My name is Buffy Summers, and I am the Slayer.  I slay nasty things, and we're not just talking spiders in the bath.  We're talking vampires, demons, undead things.  I got into it - well, we won't start on how I got into it.  Let's just say it's a way of life.  I've been slaying for years now.  I'm sort of used to it.

            The gang - my best friends Xander and Willow, plus Willow's boyfriend Oz, and my sister Dawn - had been at the villa for a week now.  It was in Tuscany, and it was beautiful.  I'd never left America before, and I was excited by every detail.

            Except for Spike.  Spike was a vampire, only he was a sort of nice vampire.  He had a chip in his head - long story - which meant he couldn't hurt anyone. Not anyone human, anyway.  He used to be an enemy, but lately he'd helped us out a bit.  Saved my life once or a million times.  Saved my sister's life, too.  Saved all of us.

            Bastard.

            I read the text.  "Ten minutes."

            "Shit!"  I stabbed the clip into my hair and aimed some make-up in the general direction of my face.  A knock on the door announced Giles, my Watcher and sort of a father figure to us all.

            "I just heard from Cordelia," he said politely, in his lovely old English accent.  "They're not far away now."

            "I know," I said indistinctly, mouth open as I tried to put some mascara on.  Why is it you can only put mascara on with your mouth open?  "Just got a text."

            "Spike's with her," Dawn said.  "Buffy's really pissed."

            "I am not," I said hotly.  "I look forward to the challenge."

            They all exchanged looks.  They all knew Spike and I had been through a slight patch recently of fancying the pants off each other, but neither of us had done anything about it.  It wasn't my fault: okay, so he was a bastard, but he was a really hot one.

            "Is - I mean," Xander cleared his throat, and I thought he might be blushing.  "Is anyone else with them?"

            "You mean Anya?" Willow teased.  Anya was this ex-demon chick who'd sort of become an outside member of the gang recently.  She hung around with Spike a bit, both of them rejects.  She was odd, outspoken, and very pretty.  Xander drooled every time she came near.

            "Haven't you heard from her?" Giles said.

            "Well - no, she, er, well, I-"

            "He dropped his cellphone in a glass of water at the airport," Willow said, ruffling Xander's hair, and he made a face.

            "I was going to say we'd decided to play it cool out here in Italy," he said, "but tanks for the honesty, Will."

            "Guys," Oz said, his voice as calm as ever, "I think they're here."

            We all rushed down the stairs.  I didn't want to admit I was excited, but I really missed the guys.  Cordelia and I had had our ups and downs, and she was such a princess, it annoyed the hell out of me, but she was basically okay.  Anya was odd, but I was starting to like her.  And Spike...

            Spike I was looking forward to getting my claws into.

            We reached the marble lobby of the old villa, and Giles's radio was playing Queen's We Will Rock You, as we reached the door and saw Cordelia come swaying up the twilit drive, dressed in a tiny tiny little minidress and sandals, her long shiny dark hair flipping in the breeze like something out of a shampoo commercial.  On her left walked Anya, shorter, slimmer, and with femme fatale blonde curls.  She wore a vintage sundress and heels and wouldn't have been out of place on a Fifties bathing beauties catalogue.  She even blew Xander a kiss as they approached, making him blush.  Again.

            Then there was Spike.  It was dark - by design, they had a night flight - so he was in full swagger mode.  And boy, could he swagger.  Long legs and a long lean body, dressed in black, all over.  His long leather duster caught the breeze and snapped around his biker boots.  His peroxide hair was tousled and his blue eyes caught the moonlight.

            Come on, I thought, mentally cracking my knuckles, I'm ready for ya.

            "Cordy!" Dawn ran forward, throwing her arms around Cordelia, who looked slightly taken aback.  Xander hung back until Anya noticed him, crooked her finger at him, and then kissed him madly like the rest of us weren't there.

            "So about that porno film you guys were thinking of making," I said to Willow and Oz.

            "I'll go get my camera," Oz said.

            "Did you have a good journey?" Giles asked.  He eyed Spike with distaste: despite a common nationality, they've never got on.  I think the fact that Spike tried to kill me so many times in the past has put him off.

            "Oh, God," Cordy moaned.  "I got there and showed them my first class ticket, and they were like, there's been a mistake, you're in coach.  And _no_ amount of bribery would get me a seat in business, either."

            "Poor diddums," Spike drawled.  "You got a seat, at least.  I got stuck in the bloody cargo hold."

            "Well, it's all you deserve," Giles said.

            "Hey, it's not my fault I got bitten a hundred years ago, old man," Spike sneered.  "I'll bite you and see how you like never seeing the sun.  Whose bloody idea was it to come to sodding Tuscany, anyway?  Couldn't we have gone to Australia?  At least it's bloody winter there."

            I blinked at him.  "Oh, you're still talking, Spike.  I stopped listening at 'I'."

            "Oh, and look who it is," Spike said, snapping his eyes in my direction.  "Miss Sarcasm, 2003."

            "How can I not be sarcastic," I replied, "when I have you to practice on?  I've never found it so easy."

            "Easy, are you?" Spike said, sucking in his cheeks so his cheekbones were highly pronounced.  "Yeah, I've heard so too.  A man don't have to do much to get you, does he, Slayer?  A couple of sweet words..."

            "Well, that rules you out, then," I said.  "Nothing sweet has ever been near you.  I'd rather listen to - to one of your scratchy old Sex Pistols records than hear 'sweet words'-"

            "I'll spread it around, Summers.  Save a man or two from getting his eyes clawed out by you."

            "In your case, I think that would be an improvement," I said sweetly.

            "God I wish my bike was as fast as you," Spike sighed.  He walked past me.  "Is there any food in this place?"

            He always has the last word.  Stupid cool-ass Brit.

            Cordelia slung her arm around my shoulders as we all went inside.  "I've missed those slanging matches of yours," she said.

            Yeah.  Me too, I thought, and felt slightly odd for it.

_Spike_

            "God, did you see Xander?" Anya said.

            "What?  The whelp?"

            "He's not a whelp," she said, taking her case from me and putting it in her room.  "He's very strong and he has endless stamina in bed."

            I made a face.  "Too much information."

            She sat down on the bed, picture perfect, and sighed.  "Don't you think he's very nicely shaped?"

            Did I really need to comment on this?

            "He's an annoying, skinny Yank with verbal diarrhoea," I said.

            "I think he's perfect," she sighed.  Again with the sighing.

            "Well, then why are you here talking to me and not off shagging him?"

            I stalked out of her room, taking my kitbag with me.  I'm not big on luggage.  Just a few clean shirts and some smokes.  And a couple of large vats of blood.  Tomorrow I'd check out the village, see if I could find a butcher who had some excess blood hanging around.  Or maybe a cow or two I could drain.  Food was all well and good, but a fella's got to have his blood.

            Damn bloody Initiative and their stupid sodding chip.  If it wasn't for that I could have had the slayer a dozen times.  I can't count the times I've had a knife at her throat.  Her pretty little throat.

            Dammit.  And now I can't hurt her, all I can do is spar with her.  And it's fun, it gets my blood up, but it's not as satisfying as it might be.

            Downstairs, I found Giles jabbering to an Iti at the front door.  He was all _grazie_ and _per favore_, and I curled my lip.  Bloody ponce.  Always showing off about some language or other.

            "Got yourself a local sweetheart, have you mate?" I asked when the little dark man had scurried away.

            Giles gave me a patronising look.  "Spike.  I see the airlines failed in their promise to make the world a safer place and delivered you to us with no regard for the state of the nation."

            He loves me really.

            "He came to invite us to a local festival," the librarian went on.  And really, he's the picture of a librarian: old holey jumper, thin-framed glasses, slightly distant expression, very proper BBC accent.  "A street party where all the locals wear masks."

            "Ooh," Willow came in, trailing Mr Monosyllable with her.  "A costume party?"

            "Well, not really," Giles turned to her.  "It's an ancient fertility rite-"

            "They're all bloody fertility rites," I interrupted.  "These people never realised you had to shag to advance the population."

            Giles ignored me.  "We can purchase masks from a stall in the village," he said.  "I thought it sounded rather fun.

            Rather.  Typical Giles.  Doesn't he know no one in Britain says stuff like that any more?  We don't tug our forelocks and exclaim Golly Gosh! and eat crumpets for tea either.

            Although I can think of one crumpet who's ripe for eating.  And she's coming down the steps right now, wearing shorts, looking edible.

            "Slayer," I greeted her.  "You going to the fertility festival?"

            She looked slightly alarmed.  "Fertility?"

            "Although with you they'd need to loosen you up a bit first," I said, pinching her arse as I went past.  She shot me a deadly look, but said nothing.  Must have worn her out.

            Shame.  I could dance with that one all night.

_Buffy_

            The village was as old and pretty as the villa.  The streets were lit with lanterns and there were people dancing to a band with fiddles and everything.  We bought masks - Willow a mystic sun-and-moon combo, Oz a wolf (we'll get onto _that_ later), Xander a harlequin, Anya a snake, Cordelia a sleek cat, Giles a Basset hound and a pretty Venetian mask for me - and drinks, and I stood with Anya at the edge of the crowd and watched Willow dancing with Oz.

            "Aren't they sweet?" I said.

            "They're adorable," Anya said distractedly.  "Why is Xander dancing with Cordelia?"

            "Because no one else will."

            "Do you think he still wants her?"

            I nearly spat out my drink.  "Cordelia?  Are you kidding?  That's so completely over!  Besides, she has a thing going now with some guy in LA..."

            "Really?" Anya brightened.  "He doesn't want to have sex with her?"

            I rolled my eyes.  Xander was a guy after all, and Cordelia was very beautiful.  I tactfully told her, "He only has eyes for you."

            "Then why isn't he dancing with me?"

            An idea occurred to me, one of the worst ideas on the history of man, and I said, brightly to Anya, "What size is your dress?"

            Fifteen minutes later I was wearing Anya's pretty retro dress and her shoes, which pinched, and I'd fastened my hair in a ponytail like hers, and put on her mask.

            "I'll pretend to be you," it had sounded so simple at the time, "and then i'll go and ask him if he loves me.  You.  And he'll give me his honest answer, and then I can come back and tell you,  And you don't have to make a fool of yourself."

            Which would be a first, I thought as I went over and tapped Cordelia on the shoulder, because Anya's had her foot in her mouth ever since I met her.

            "Excuse me," I said, trying to sound like Anya, "but you're getting awfully close to my boyfriend."

            Cordelia looked me up and down.  "Whatever, retro-girl."  She stalked off in te direction of some Italian men, and I held out my hands to Xander, who took them hesitantly.

            "Did you say boyfriend?"

            "Don't you want to be my boyfriend?"

            "Well-" oh God, he was stalling, this wasn't good "-Anya-" at least he believed the act "it's just that I hardly know you, and, er-"

            "You don't think I'm attractive," I cried.  "Is it my hair?  My funky retro fashion sense?  You just don't want to be seen with an ex-demon, do you?"

            "No!  Well, just so long as you don't turn back and eviscerate me or anything," Xander looked pleading under his half mask.  "Anya, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

            "Better than Buffy?" I asked masochistically.

            "Well - yes.  Of course."

            I suppose I should be pleased for Anya.  But later, I'm going to kick his ass.

            "I think you're very nicely-shaped," I said.  "And if you want to have sex with me, you can."

            Yes, I know, but Anya really does talk like this.

            "I - well - Anya-"

            "I'll even have sex with you now," I improvised, hoping desperately that Anya was up for it.  If not, I was in trouble.  "If you find me attractive enough, that is.  If you want a relationship with me."

            "Well, of course I find you attractive enough," Xander said, and I realised the evidence of this was digging in my hip.  Euw.

            "Okay, great, then I'll meet you behind the _farmacia_ in five minutes, gotta go freshen up," I said, and bolted to tell Anya the good news.

_Spike_

            I could hardly believe what I saw.  Firstly, Anya and Buffy both getting their kit off.  Was this some lesbian tryst I'd stumbled on?

            But no.  Just a clothes swap.  I was getting all excited for nothing.

            I was confused, until I saw Buffy wiggle out into the crowd and get Xander up close and personal.  Talk about body language!  That girl was giving off I Fancy You signals as loud and clear as if she'd got a plane to write it in a jet trail.

            I whistled under my breath.  I do like to see feathers ruffled.  Although I prefer to ruffle them myself.  But a bit of mayhem is always fun.

            I sidled up to Anya, who was watching hopefully.

            "I thought he was over her," I said in her ear, making her jump.

            "Who?  Xander?  When was he - when was he-"

            "Oh, he's had a thing for her for years," I said.  "Didn't you know?  Since way before you came on the scene.  He's the slayer's lapdog.  He follows her everywhere."

            "But he doesn't know that's her," Anya said.

            "Wanna bet?  He knows.  And she's not pretending you be you, either.  She's told him.  Look at him.  He's damn hot for her.  She wants him all for herself."

            We watched as Buffy whispered something in Xander's ear and he went very pink under his mask.  Then she ran off behind the buildings where she'd swapped clothes with Anya.  Anya ran off too.

            Xander stood there, trying to cover up his crotch.  I laughed to myself, snagged an apple from a nearby tree, and sneaked over to watch the girls argue in their underwear.

            "You only wanted him for yourself," Anya was accusing, refusing to take her clothes off.  Buffy, meanwhile, was standing there in bra and knickers, looking very fetching.  I took out a cigarette, lit it, and sighed in satisfaction.

            "Anya, no I didn't," Buffy looked slightly desperate.  "Can I have my clothes back?"

            "No!  You want to have sex with Xander."

            "No, I don't!"  Buffy put her hands on her hips, and I sighed in appreciation.  Is it just slayers that have such juicy bodies?  "Look, Anya, come with me."

            And she grabbed Anya's hand, her slayer strength stronger than Anya's distress, and pulled her out around the back of the village buildings, to a dark shady yard behind the village _farmacia_.  There, I was amused to see the whelp hanging around, looking confused and horny.  The standard state of a young human male.  So glad I don't have to go through that any more.

            "Xander," the slayer yelled.  "Xander, here's Anya, have sex with her."

            Xander had the grace to look thoroughly bewildered and embarrassed.  "What?  Buffy - you're not wearing anything.  Anya, why did you - your clothes-" he squinted, "you did change them, right?"

            "Yes, Xander, I changed them."  She looked ticked off, and I made a face.  Was my fun about to end so thoroughly?  "So Buffy could pretend she was me and have sex with you."

            "Buffy - what?"

            "I pretended to be Anya so I could find out if you really like her," Buffy explained.  "And I'm pretty sure you do.  So, go on, get it on."

            They both stared at her.

            "And I'll be going," she added, "if Anya will _give me my clothes back_."

            "You don't want Xander?" Anya asked, confused.

            "No.  No, sorry, Xand, but no.  This was all for Anya.  And as she's going to be taking off my clothes for, er, your benefit, then can I have them back?  Please?"

            Anya looked at Xander.

            "You don't want Buffy?"

            "No!  Well, sorry, Buff-"

            "That's absolutely okay."

            Xander and Anya were now staring at each other.

            "Well," she played with the hem of her dress, "if you don't want her..."

            "I want you," Xander said.

            Bless.  I mean, ergh, yuck.  Wasn't I supposed to be causing mayhem?  Bloody humans and their bloody mushy feelings.

            I strode away, pissed off.

_Buffy_

            When I'd finally managed to get my clothes back off Anya, who seemed very enthusiastic, all of a sudden, about taking them off, I got dressed again, congratulated myself on a job well, if not conventionally, done, and went back to the street party.  Willow was still dancing with Oz, Cordelia was surrounded by a bunch of amorous Italians, one of whom was taking quite an interest in my baby sister.  I glared at him, but then I realised he was only about fourteen.  That was okay then.

            I looked around.  There was no one for me to talk to.  Everyone in the world was pairing off, except for me.  Even Giles was blushing and twittering on in Italian to a bunch of ladies with flowers in their hair and bottles of Italian beer in their slim brown hands.

            Depressed, I sat back on a bench and pushed away my mask, recalling with words Giles had intoned on our first meeting.  "One girl in all the world.  She alone will have the strength and skill - to what?  Sit here and make amusing comments?  Just Buffy.  No other slayer.  Just me."

            "You arre Buffy?" purred a sexy Italian voice beside me, and I looked up in surprise.  I should have better instincts than that.

            He was wearing jeans and a tight white t-shirt and he had a great body.  His face was hidden by a mask like a hangman's hood, that covered his whole head.  Slightly creepy.

            "That's my name," I explained apprehensively.

            "I have had the 'earing of some things about you," said the hangman guy.

            "Oh, yeah?  What sort of things?"

            "That you are verry beautiful," he took my hand and pressed it to his hidden lips.

            "Yeah, well, thanks."

            "And your - what is the word?  Your wit-?" he was looking at something that rhymed with that, "-is _molto__ bene_."

            It took me a while to work this one out.  "I'm funny?"

            "_Si_.  Although, I have also heard, er, had the 'earing, that you take it all from the movies."

            I stared at him.  "I do not get my lines from movies!  That's all pure Summers wit.  I'm original.  There's no one else like me.  Who told you that?"

            He shrugged.  "I don' know.  A foreigner."

            "American?  Like me?"

            "I don' know."

            I scowled at the swirling crowds.  "I'll bet it was Spike."

            "Spike?"

            "Yeah.  Tall, good-looking, if you ignore his stupid hair - wears a lot of black, sarcastic to everyone he sees, has no wit of his own, it's all borrowed from TV shows.  He spends all day watching Passions and Dawson's Creek."

            "What arre these things?"

            "Don't you guys get cable?"

            "This Spike, 'e is a friend of yours?"

            I snorted.  "No friend of mine, buster.  He's like a,  what d'you call it, a parasite.  He hangs around and leeches off the group and tries to make jokes no one laughs at.  What else did he say about me?" I asked, because suddenly it seemed very important.

            The hangman guy shrugged.  "He said that you were a beetch."

            "A bitch?  He's such a _butthead_."  Did I really just say the word butthead?  What am I, twelve?

            The hangman guy was silent for a bit.  "When I see heem, I will say so."

            He got up, and suddenly I realised that this guy might have come here to ask me to dance.

            "Wait!"

            He stopped.  He had a nice back under that shirt.

            "Do you - I mean, if you don't mind - do you wanna dance?"

            He turned and looked at me, but it was too dark for me to see his eyes under that hood.

            "_Fa__ bene_," he said, and led me out into the packed street where the band started up a slower tune.  The mystery guy held me close and I guess it was the coolness of the evening, but he didn't feel very warm to me...

            Oh, shit.

            I looked up at him, and the light caught his eyes.  Now, how many Italians have pale blue eyes?

            I ripped the hood off.  "Spike, you bastard!"

            "Oh, so you figured it out, then?"

            "That was the worst Italian accent I've ever heard.  You're worse than Joey Tribbiani."

            "I wouldn't know who that is, I spend too much time watching Dawson's Creek and Passions."


End file.
